


Breath I'll Take, and Breath I'll Give

by camwolfe



Series: Breath I'll Take, and Breath I'll Give [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Depression, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:37:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/camwolfe/pseuds/camwolfe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's starting to get harder for Steve to find reasons to get out of bed in the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stand among the ones that live

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this whole thing is from "Lungs", by Townes Van Zandt. That's also where the chapter title is from. 
> 
> This was originally supposed to be around 2000 words, and then it just kind of... kept going. Also, this is MOSTLY about Steve but Bucky makes an appearance and is mentioned a lot. You'll see. Or won't, if you stopped reading already. That's ok too. 
> 
> This takes place after CA:TWS but before that other fic that I wrote. Mostly. There are are few inconsistencies between this and that other fic, so if you read both then you'll probably notice a few continuity errors. 
> 
> Again, I only have time to write and edit this really late at night. You'll probably find grammar and spelling errors as a result, I'm so sorry

No one called Steve to tell him.

He found out when he opened the news on his laptop in the morning. He’d just gotten back from his run, and was just finishing his breakfast as he scrolled through the newspaper’s website. He didn’t actually like reading the news all that much, but he felt a strange sense of obligation to do so.

The headline caught his eye. He knew immediately what the story was, but he read it anyway.

It touched briefly on Peggy’s passing, and who would be in attendance at her funeral. The rest of the article talked solely about the fall of SHIELD, and Hydra’s involvement. It concluded with a single sentence detailing the time and place of Peggy’s funeral.

Steve closed the article and turned his laptop off. He sat at his kitchen table, staring blankly ahead. His hands felt cold.

He’d known this would happen, of course. Peggy was old, and very sick. Her mind had been wandering even more than usual lately, and there were some days that she didn’t recognize Steve at all. Her death, in itself, was not a sad event. She had lived a long and good life, and had spent her final days surrounded by her family.

He’d known that this would happen, but it still came as a shock. Steve had been planning to go see her this afternoon, actually. It was the one thing that he actually had scheduled in his week. He always brought her flowers, and he’d picked up a new bouquet yesterday. The flowers sat on his kitchen counter, looking slightly wilted already.

Steve finally got up and started to clean his breakfast dishes. He was moving on autopilot because his mind felt strangely blank. He’d thought a lot about what it would be like when Peggy died, almost to an obsessive extent. He’d assumed that he’d be overwhelmed with grief.

That wasn’t happening, though. His mind felt numb and quiet. Peggy was dead. He would never talk to her again. He’d never hear her laugh, or watch her roll her eyes at something he said. Then again, that was true for nearly everyone that Steve had ever known.

He wanted to cry, he really did. Steve had never been one of those people who thought crying was a sign of weakness. He didn’t like crying in front of people he wasn’t comfortable with, of course, but he knew it was healthy to have some sort of outlet for emotions. Steve didn’t actually know the last time he’d cried, now that he thought about it. He’d cried when he’d lost Bucky the first time, but had it happened since then?

Steve didn’t think so. He hadn’t been able to cry after waking up in the hospital after the fall of SHIELD. He’d poured all of his energy into looking for Bucky instead.

Sam had finally made him throw in the towel for a while. He claimed that Steve needed a break, and that they could try again in a few months. Steve had argued with him for a while over that. Steve didn’t want to stop, but even he had to admit that they were getting nowhere.

 Sam had forced Steve to go home and take a break. They still did research and made plans, because Steve couldn’t give up completely. But Sam had finally convinced him it would be more effective to use their research to try and figure out where Bucky might be, rather than frantically scouring the globe for any trace of him.

All of that meant that Steve had not allowed himself time to grieve. For anything. He knew that, and he also knew that Sam disapproved of it. But it was working for Steve right now, and he didn’t exactly have time to fall apart. People were counting on him.

Steve put his running shoes back on. He’d already been for two hour run this morning, but it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.

He was hoping to feel better as he got outside his building and started to run, but nothing changed. His heart was beating more quickly and his lungs were straining, but the numbness was still there. His thoughts felt stiff and quiet, and his skin was cold. It actually almost felt like he wasn’t in his body anymore. He ran more quickly, until he’d been sprinting for over three hours. By then, he was gasping for air and his muscles were cramping. His hands and feet felt a little warmer, though.

Steve didn’t bother trying to sleep that night. He barely slept on an average day, despite his best efforts. He sat in his living room instead, pouring through the files on Hydra that he and Sam had managed to dig up. He’d already read through each of them multiple times, but it couldn’t hurt to go through them again.

The sun was peeking through the windows when Steve finally got up from the couch. His eyes felt dry and irritated from staring at the pages for so long, and his body felt unusually drained. He showered and dressed, struggling with the buttons on his suit. His hands still felt cold and clumsy.

He wasn’t hungry, but he ate before he left anyway. He didn’t even taste the food.

He took a taxi to the cemetery. He didn’t think it was appropriate to show up on his motorcycle.

 

Steve was pleased with the amount of people at the funeral. Peggy had clearly been very loved.

Steve stood near the back, making sure he kept his head bowed. He didn’t want to attract any notice. All of the attention today should be on Peggy and her family.

To his relief, people left him alone. Some whispered and pointed at him, of course, but no one tried to speak with him.

He caught a glimpse of Sharon, standing up front with the rest of Peggy’s family. She met his gaze for a moment, but Steve looked away. Over her shoulder, he caught a glimpse of people approaching the cemetery. They were clearly not there to mourn Peggy’s passing. They weren’t dressed up, and they were holding signs.

Steve slipped quietly away, walking down the hill towards the group of people. Sure enough, he noticed that they were carrying anti-Hydra signs.

“Good morning,” he said pleasantly as he came to a stop in front of them. They stopped too.

“Uh, good morning,” one of them said uncertainly. “Excuse us.”

The man tried to step around Steve, but he froze as Steve stepped in front of him and blocked his way.

“Please take that elsewhere,” Steve said, still keeping his voice pleasant. The man glanced back at his group, and then straightened up.

“It is our right to protest where and when we want to,” the man said primly. “We refuse to condone any of SHIELD’s events, due to their involvement with Hydra.”

Steve stared at him evenly. “This isn’t a SHIELD event. This is a funeral.”

The man stared nervously back at him. “Well, yes, but it’s the funeral of Peggy Carter. She was one of the founding members of SHIELD and therefore-“

Steve was losing his patience, which hadn’t been very strong in the first place. “And therefore you should take this elsewhere. Trust me, I am just as opposed to Hydra as you are. Probably more so. But this is a funeral for a woman whose work has saved your life more times than you could possibly count. If you take one more step forward towards this funeral, I will stop you. It’ll be easier for both of us if you just turn around and go home.”

“You’re Captain America. You wouldn’t hurt us,” a younger man in the back of the group said confidently.

“I am,” Steve said. “And no, I probably wouldn’t hurt you. But you are not getting one more step closer to that funeral.”

Steve thought he was doing a good job of keeping his voice calm and reasonable, but he also felt his anger starting to creep into his words. The group of people seemed to notice it too, because they were starting to look at each other worriedly.

“Go,” Steve said again. “Last warning.”

Apparently his glare was intimidating enough, because the man turned on his heel and stalked back down the hill towards the parking lot. His group followed behind him, throwing glares over their shoulders at Steve. He waited until they had gotten back into their cars and driven away before he returned to the funeral. He knew a few people were looking at him, but he ignored their gazes and stared resolutely at the coffin. He focused on pushing his anger down.

When the funeral was over, Steve walked away before anyone could try and talk to him. He didn’t want to be rude, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood to chat.

Steve walked all the way home. Night was falling by the time he neared his apartment.

He hadn’t thought about much on the way home. He knew he should be mourning Peggy, but instead he found himself counting his steps and idly watching the cars drive past. Counting his steps actually took a fair bit of concentration, which is why he didn’t hear the shouts from down the street initially. When they finally caught his attention, Steve looked up.

One block down, two men had cornered a young woman and a small boy. The woman was pressing her child back against the building behind her. She was frantically trying to hold onto her purse as one of the men tried to wrench it away from her. She was screaming and kicking as much as she could, but her efforts to protect her son made it easy for one of the men to grab the purse. The other man was lazily pointing a gun at the child.

Steve was already running, but he was still a few feet away when the man swung his fist and punched the woman on the side of her head, knocking her into the building. She crumpled to the ground, and the boy screamed.

Steve jumped at the man holding the gun first. He grabbed the gun out of the man’s hand and tossed it aside. The man’s arm snapped under his grip, but Steve didn’t even hear his scream. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his vision was tinged red with anger. Steve threw the man into the wall beside the boy and lunged at the other attacker.

He had dropped the purse when he saw Steve attack his friend, and he turned to run. Steve kicked the man’s back, and he slammed forward onto the pavement. Steve kicked him again in the ribs, hard enough that the man was thrown into the wall. Steve knelt down and grabbed the man’s shirt, ready to hit him against the wall again for good measure until he heard the sound of the boy crying. It broke through the red haze of Steve’s vision, and he forced himself to unclench his fists. The man dropped back to the ground, howling. Steve cast him one more disgusted look and turned away.

Steve tried to force himself to breathe normally. He struggled to let go of the anger that told him to rip these men apart limb from limb. They were clearly terrible people, but it wasn’t up to Steve to determine if they lived or died.

He repeated that to himself as he walked back over to where the boy was kneeling. The child had pulled a phone out of his mother’s pocket, and had clearly called 911. He was explaining their location between sobs, and Steve could hear the woman on the other end of the call assuring him that help would be there soon.

Steve knelt next to the woman and checked her pulse. Her breathing was steady, and her heartbeat was regular. The blow to her head had knocked her out, but Steve doubted she would suffer any permanent damage.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked the boy, as gently as he could.

The child nodded, staring wide-eyed at Steve.

“That’s good,” Steve said. “Your mom is going to be just fine, okay?”

The boy didn’t look reassured. “She won’t wake up,” he said tearfully.

Steve nodded. “She will. Her head just needs some time to sleep before she can wake up again.”

“Okay,” the boy said sadly. He tugged at his mother’s hair for a moment, staring at her. He looked up at Steve again.

“Have you ever been knocked out?”

“Yep,” Steve said, taking off his suit jacket and laying it over the woman as gently as he could. “Lots of times. Hurts a little, but it isn’t that bad.”

The boy nodded again. “I broke my arm once.”

“Did that hurt?”

“Yes,” the boy said. “But I didn’t cry.”

“That was very brave of you,” Steve said as he adjusted the coat over the woman. “I broke my arm once, when I was a kid, and I cried a lot.”

“Really?” the boy asked, wide-eyed. “Captain America cried?”

Steve smiled a little. “Yep.”

“How’d it happen?”

Steve was saved from having to reply by the arrival of the ambulance and a few police cars. Steve stepped back as the paramedics rushed to get the woman on a stretcher. The police were already handcuffing the men, giving Steve wary looks. Steve ignored them.

He waited until the woman and her son were safely in the ambulance. He stared after the ambulance for a few minutes as it pulled away, until it was out of his sight. Then he slowly started walking again.

He absent-mindedly changed out of his suit when he got home. Steve stood in his silent apartment, staring out the window at the street below. He turned on the tv in an effort to dispel the quiet. Some old movie was playing, but Steve had no interest in watching it. He pulled out his sketchpad instead, and sat down at his kitchen table. He started to draw, letting the sound from the tv lull him into a sort of hypnosis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you read this far, THANK YOU! I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments, you can talk to me here or on tumblr at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com


	2. But you saw no fault

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Ghosts That We Knew", by Mumford and Sons.

It was early the next morning when Steve woke up. He was slumped over the table, and his face was pressed against his sketchpad. He sat up slowly, stretching his tense muscles.

Steve stared groggily at the papers in front of him. They were all of Peggy, and were as lifelike and accurate as he could make them. He’d done some from when she’d been younger, and some that resembled how she’d looked just before her death.

He gathered all of the papers up, making sure to tuck his sketchpad back into its drawer. He then headed into the spare bedroom, where all of his other drawings were tacked up on the walls. By now most of the room was covered with them.

Steve carefully pinned the ones of Peggy up on the wall. He didn’t stop to admire his handiwork. Instead, he backed out of the room and closed the door. The only time he ever went into that room was to hang up new pictures, but he never stayed to look at the others. He just felt better knowing it was there.

He went for his morning run, as usual. He got back to his apartment just in time to hear his cell phone ringing.

“Hello?” he asked as he answered it.

“Hey,” Sam’s voice said. “You are not following my instructions.”

“What instructions?” Steve asked as he tried to start making breakfast with one hand.

“The ones where I told you to rest! And not to do any more superhero stuff for a little while!”

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked as he opened the milk carton with one hand.

“You can’t lie to me, man. I saw you on the news last night.”

Steve frowned. “I was on the news?”

“Well, you weren’t, but they filmed some little kid who was going on and on about how you saved him and his mom.”

“Yeah, well, that just kind of… happened.”

“Okay, okay, I get it, you can’t turn the superhero thing off. But still. Cut it out. Hey, did you see that that SHIELD lady died?”

Steve’s hand tightened around the milk carton. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”

Sam must have heard something in Steve’s voice. “Did you know her?”

Steve leaned his forehead against the cool surface of his fridge. “Yes. Look, Sam, I have a lot of stuff to do…”

There was silence for a moment before Sam spoke again.

“Okay. I’m sorry, Steve. I didn’t mean to pry or anything like that. Look, can I come over tomorrow? I’ll bring pizza. And beer.”

“Yeah,” Steve said slowly. “Yeah, that’d be good. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem. I’ll text you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, okay. Talk to you later.”

Steve hung up the phone and stood in the silence of his apartment again.

 

Sam’s visit was, initially, fun. They ate the pizza and drank the beer. Sam told Steve stories from his week at work, and Steve smiled and laughed at all the right points. They talked about some of the veterans that Sam was working with, and about some of the new running routes that Steve had tried. Nothing too dark or serious. Steve was grateful for it.

They’d had about the same amount of beer, but Sam was obviously a lot more intoxicated than Steve was. Steve envied him.

Steve went into the kitchen to clean up the pizza boxes. When he walked back out to the living room, Sam was gone.

“Sam?” Steve called cautiously. He assumed that Sam was just in the washroom, until he saw that the door to the spare room was open.

Steve ran down the hallway. Sure enough, Sam was standing in the spare bedroom, looking at the drawings that nearly completely covered all four walls.

“What are you doing in here?” Steve asked, more harshly than he meant to.

“I thought this was the door to the bathroom,” Sam said absentmindedly. He was staring at some of the drawings of Steve’s childhood apartment. “Steve, these are fucking amazing.”

“No, they aren’t,” Steve said. His jaw was clenched, and his chest felt tight. “Come on, let’s go finish those beers.”

Sam was now looking at the drawings of Steve’s mother. “Who’s this? These are so good, Steve, seriously. What’s –“

“Sam!” Steve nearly shouted. He was breathing much too quickly, and his face felt flushed. Sam turned to look at him, his smile disappearing.

“Shit,” Sam said awkwardly. He quickly stepped around Steve and went back out into the living room. Steve followed him, firmly shutting the door on the bedroom behind him.

Sam was sitting on the couch, watching Steve cautiously. Steve sat in the chair opposite him, stubbornly not meeting Sam’s eyes.

“Sorry, Steve,” Sam said finally. “I shouldn’t have done that. I honestly opened the wrong door, and then I saw all those pictures, and I was just curious.”

“No, it’s okay,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “I overreacted.”

Steve genuinely wasn’t upset with Sam. He hadn’t done anything wrong. Steve was just irrational when it came to that room, and those drawings. He barely went in it himself, let alone allowed other people in there.

“Steve…” Sam said slowly. “What are those pictures of? There must be hundreds in that room.”

Steve stared at the floor. “They’re just… they’re just things I want to remember.”

“Okay,” Sam said calmly. “But how long has that taken you? Those were all really detailed.”

Steve shrugged. “A while. I like doing it.”

Sam was quiet for a minute. “Well, I’m glad you have a hobby that you like. But can I ask why? Why do you need to draw all those memories?”

Steve ground his teeth again. “It’s just… look, Sam, it’s not a big deal.”

“I know,” Sam said. “But you can tell me anyway.”

Steve closed his eyes for a minute. “I don’t want to forget. That’s why.”

“Forget what?”

“Everything!” Steve said, more forcefully than he meant to. “You don’t… okay, look. There are fucking textbooks written entirely about me. There are museum exhibits about me. But those aren’t… those aren’t the same as having actual memories, and photographs, and people. You probably have a bunch of photo albums from when you were a kid, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And your parents can tell you stories about when you were a kid, and your friends are always talking about the different parties that you’ve been too, and the fun things you’ve done, right?”

“Yes,” Sam said calmly.

“Okay, well, I don’t have that, Sam. I don’t have anyone to share my memories with. There’s no evidence that… that they happened. That they were real. Everything I owned is either lost or in a museum somewhere. And there’s no one who… who remembers it, okay? There’s nobody else who knew me before… before I came here. To this century. Nobody remembers it , except for me. So it’s kind of like it never happened. And I’m scared of losing that. I don’t want to lose all of that. It’s all I’ve got left, Sam. So I draw it, and I write it down, so I can remind myself of my life before. Because there’s no one else who can do that for me.”

Steve didn’t even know if he was making sense anymore.

Sam was quiet for a minute until he was sure that Steve was done.

“Okay,” Sam said. “That makes sense.”

Steve ran his hands through his hair and leaned back in his seat. “Sorry for snapping at you.”

“Nah,” Sam said dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. Look, Steve, I have to get going. But you know that you can call me anytime, right?”

Steve stared at him tiredly. “Yeah.”

“I mean it,” Sam said as he got up and put his shoes on. “Any time, Steve. Even if you just want to talk about nothing in particular. It’s okay.”

Steve nodded and got up to show him out. “Yeah. Thank you, Sam.”

He knew Sam was still watching him worriedly as he walked him out of the building, but he was suddenly too tired to care. They said their goodbyes, and Steve headed back to his apartment. He finished cleaning up and sat back down on the couch. He gritted his teeth, almost willing himself to cry. He wanted to cry, if he was being completely honest. He wanted to feel something. Anything.

Nothing happened. All he felt was the same dull apathy that accompanied him around at all times. It made him an effective soldier, for sure. It had been useful, during the war. It was too hard to care as much as Steve did in a place like that. Steve hadn’t been able to feel the loss of every friend he watched die, of every person he shot and killed. It had been too much, and eventually all that pain and anger had faded into this.

 But he wasn’t a soldier anymore. He wasn’t anything. He was just some guy who yelled at his friend for accidentally walking into a spare bedroom.

Steve leaned back against the couch and closed his eyes. The anger was there, of course. It always was, no matter how hard he tried to push it down. It wasn’t stronger than the apathy, though. Nothing seemed to be. That seemed to be all he felt these days. Nothing, then anger, and then nothing again. Sometimes, weirdly, both apathy and anger at the same time.

Steve dragged himself to his bed and collapsed on top of it. He wasn’t physically tired, but that short burst of anger at Sam had drained him. He didn’t even bother changing out of his clothes, and instead let himself drift off to sleep still on top of the covers.


	3. I was a heavy heart to carry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Heavy In Your Arms" by Florence + The Machine.

Steve didn’t bother getting out of bed the next morning. He woke up a few times that day to eat and shower, but then he returned right back to his room and collapsed back on his bed again. He didn’t turn on the tv or open up his laptop. It would just be more news about some disaster somewhere in the world, or some murder that had happened the night before. More things that Steve should probably be helping out with. He should be out making a difference, somehow. He’d been given this body to do important things with and here he was, lying in bed in the middle of the day.

The apathy had spread to his entire body, though, and it took all of his willpower to even walk to the kitchen. His limbs felt heavy and cold, and moving was difficult. Steve didn’t really care. He liked sleeping.

He left his phone in the living room. He could hear the beep of text messages arriving, but he didn’t bother to check it.

He ran out of fresh food at some point, and resorted to eating the dry cereal he had in the cupboard. The thought of going to the grocery store was too difficult, considering getting to the kitchen was hard enough.

In the few times that Steve wasn’t sleeping or lying in bed listlessly, he tried to read. His mind would wander within a few minutes of starting a book, though, and he would find himself falling back asleep again.

Steve spent the next three weeks like that. He would occasionally check his phone, out of habit. It was only text messages from Sam asking if he was all right, or if he wanted to hang out. Steve always dutifully replied, assuring Sam that he was fine. He always offered some lame excuse about why he couldn’t see Sam, but so far Sam hadn’t called him out on it.

This pattern was only broken when he opened his messages one day to find a text from Natasha. She wanted him to come to New York as soon as possible. Something about an Avengers meeting.

Steve rolled over in bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew he should probably go. At least it would give him something to do.

And that was how Steve found himself on a flight the next day to New York.

 

He had an apartment in New York as well, and he went straight there after arriving. It was similar to his apartment in DC, except with less personal touches. Drawings still covered the wall in the spare bedroom here, but there were slightly less than in his other apartment.

He ate some pasta that he’d found in the cupboard while watching a reality show on tv. He wasn’t paying much attention to it, and he found himself falling asleep before the episode even ended.

Steve woke up the next morning and dragged himself out of bed. He spent most of the day wandering aimlessly around New York. He ran a few errands, but mostly he just walked.

He didn’t feel anything as he walked around. Some of the landmarks and buildings were familiar to him, but he didn’t feel nostalgia or sadness when he looked at him. He didn’t feel anything.

He stopped by his apartment to drop off some groceries, and then headed up to Tony’s tower. He walked the whole way, even though it took him hours. He didn’t care.

The receptionist at the tower sent him straight up to Tony’s apartment at the top. The entire team was there when he arrived. They were already all standing around some sort of table that displayed a map on it digitally. Everyone murmured hellos to Steve as he joined them, but they were all deeply engrossed. From what Steve could gather, there was some kind of Hydra base in southern Florida. Coulson was heading up the new SHIELD division, and he had requested that they investigate it if they could. It was also implied that they could destroy it if they wanted to. Apparently this one had been a major source of Hydra operations, and Coulson was wary of letting his team tackle it alone.

Everyone was trying to formulate a plan, but Steve didn’t participate. His mind was wandering again. He was trying to remember what his mother’s favourite colour had been, and it was really bothering him that he didn’t know it.

Someone nudged his arm.

“Steve?” Natasha asked. Steve snapped back to the present to realize that everyone was staring at him.

“Yeah?” Steve said, already knowing that he’d missed something important.

“Have you been paying attention at all?” Tony asked. “I worked pretty hard on this, you know.”

“No you didn’t,” Clint said from across the table. “This plan was all me.”

“It definitely was not,” Tony said. “Anyway, Steve, are you fine with this?”

“Yes,” Steve said, even though he had no idea what he was agreeing to.

“You’ll be on this road here,” Natasha said, pointing to part of the map. “We just need you to stop anyone from coming down this road when we don’t want them to.”

It was a shitty job. Steve knew that, and they all probably did too. It was basically guard duty. Tony was probably expecting Steve to fight for a better position, or to rework the plan. But Steve was tired, and he didn’t particular care either way. He’d do whatever they needed him to do.

“Okay,” Steve said dully. “Sounds great.”

Natasha frowned at him. Tony raised his eyebrows.

“Oh. Okay then. Anyway, Clint, if you’re standing over here –“

Steve tuned out again.

 

An hour later, the planning was basically done. They were as ready as they could ever be. Tony had produced an entire table of food from somewhere, and everyone was spread around his living room. Thor and Bruce sat on the couch, discussing Asgardian technology. Tony and Clint were leaning on the counter, arguing over something. Natasha was sitting on the counter next to them, eating pizza and listening to their discussion. Steve leaned next to her, focusing on his food. He finally started listening to Clint and Tony, only to realize that they were discussing the rather morbid topic of what the best way to die would be.

“Okay, well, fire is obviously the worst,” Tony said confidently. “Nothing’s worse than that.”

“Yeah, but getting shot hurts like a motherfucker,” Clint said.

“More than fire?”

“Well, no, but it’s still bad. Actually, no, not as bad as poison.”

“Eh,” Tony shrugged. “Poison is usually over quickly, at least. What about, like, falling to death? That would take a fucking long time.”

“The end comes quickly, though,” Clint said through a mouthful of pizza. “Drowning would take a while.”

“Drowning doesn’t hurt that much, though,” Tony said. Steve laughed sharply, interrupted Tony’s sentence.

They all turned to look at him. Steve looked back down at his pizza.

“Wait, hold on,” Tony said excitedly. “Wait, do you remember drowning?”

Steve wanted to close his eyes. Tony kept talking.

“You do, don’t you! Okay, you have to tell me, was it the drowning or the ice that got you? Which one hurt more? Bruce and I have been talking about this for ages, it’s really interesting. Useful, too. We can use it in research.”

“Tony,” Natasha said warningly.

“It was drowning,” Steve said. His voice was flat, but he could feel the familiar anger starting to wrap its way around his brain.

“Fuck, that’s cool,” Tony said. “Hey, Bruce! It was drowning that got him.”

Steve tried not to roll his eyes.

“Tony,” Bruce said in a tone similar to Natasha’s.

“Okay, you can answer this then,” Tony continued. “What’s worse, getting shot or drowning? You’ve done the drowning thing, and then your friend shot you a few times up on that helicarrier –“

Steve gritted his teeth. “Drowning. I just told you that.”

“Yeah, but Bruce thinks that you probably actually froze just before drowning, which is why you didn’t die completely – “

“Tony,” Natasha said, her voice cold. “Stop.”

Tony stopped talking and turned to look at her. Steve dropped his food back on his plate and pushed himself away from the counter. He stepped closer to Tony, making their height difference more pronounced. He stared down at Tony.

“You want to know what drowning feels like?” Steve asked. His voice was flat, but red was tinging his vision and his heart was starting to pound in his ears.

“Well, I mean…” Tony said, casting a glance at Bruce. Bruce and Thor had stopped talking and were staring at them.

“It’s painful,” Steve said. “And it takes a long fucking time. You try to hold your breath for as long as you can, but the water is cold and it forces you to try and breathe. So you breathe in that cold water, and you start to panic. And you start trying to swim to the surface, but your arms and legs are so cold already that you can barely move. It’s dark, too. So dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. So there you are, blind and deaf, and really, really cold. And the more you panic, the more water you breathe in, but your body is already dying and your brain is going with it. And by the time you start to pass out, you aren’t sure if you’re dead already or not, because it sure feels like hell. And so when it all stops it’s a relief. It feels great.”

The room was silent. Tony stared resolutely back Steve, but he was frowning.

“Don’t even get me started on getting pulled out of the ice,” Steve says, venom dripping from his words. “Now _that_ hurts like nothing else, let me tell you. All those nerve endings coming back to life after being dead for so long? It hurts so much that you don’t even understand what’s going on, and all you can think is that you must still be in hell because it won’t fucking stop. Trust me, getting shot is nothing compared to that.”

Tony stared at him for a long moment. Everyone else was silent.

“Okay then,” Tony said. “Drowning is the worst. Got it.”

Steve stared at him a moment longer, then stepped back with a laugh.

“Steve,” Natasha said, resting her hand on his arm. He pulled away and grabbed his jacket from where it hung over a chair. The elevator doors opened for him as he walked towards him, and shut as soon as he stepped in.

“I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard him say at one time,” he heard Tony say as the doors closed. It sounded like Bruce said something loudly in return, but the elevator was already dropping back down through the tower.


	4. I was disappearing in plain sight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "No Light, No Light" by Florence + The Machine.

Steve leaned back against the cool wall of the elevator, closing his eyes. His heart was still beating too quickly, and he honestly just wanted to punch something.

The elevator doors opened again a moment later, and Steve half walked, half ran out onto the street. The street was quiet at this time of night, but people were still out and about. Steve dodged them mindlessly as he walked, focusing instead on obsessively counting his steps. He squeezed his hands into fists and then unclenched them again.

“Steve!” he heard Natasha’s voice call from behind him. Steve took a deep breath and stopped walking. He turned around.

Natasha was jogging to catch up with him.

“Are you all right?” Natasha said as she slid to a halt in front of him.

“Yes,” Steve said stiffly. “Just tired.”

She was watching him intently. “Steve… just come back inside and finish dinner at least. Tony was being a jerk, but Bruce will make him shut up.”

“No,” Steve replied, and then winced at the harshness of his tone. “I’m sorry, Natasha. I’m just really tired. I kind of just want to go to bed early. I’ve got food at home, I’ll be fine.”

Natasha clearly wasn’t convinced. “Tony and Clint didn’t mean anything by it. You know that, right? They shouldn’t have been discussing that shit around you, but they didn’t mean to upset you.”

Steve ran his hands through his hair. “I’m not upset. Look, you’ll all have a better time without me there anyway. I’m not exactly a fucking ray of sunshine.”

Natasha was frowning at him now. “Steve, come on, that’s not true.”

“I’m going home,” Steve said, as firmly as he could. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Natasha. I really do. I’m just tired. Go back and have some fun.”

Natasha apparently realized that Steve wasn’t going to change his mind. “You’ll be back tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Steve said impatiently.

She was still frowning. “Steve, you don’t have to go on this mission. If it’s too much-“

“It’s fine,” Steve insisted. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Have a good night, Natasha.”

Steve turned around and resumed walking. Natasha didn’t follow him this time.

He felt awful about being rude to her, but he needed to go. He couldn’t be there anymore. He knew Natasha just wanted to help, but he couldn’t talk about this.

Steve walked all the way back to his apartment and slammed the door behind him. He went immediately to the cabinet where he kept his alcohol. It was for guests, of course, but it was well stocked.

Steve desperately drank every bottle in that cupboard. The amount he drank would have killed the average person three times over, but Steve didn’t feel anything. Like always.

The anger was still there, and the alcohol did nothing to help. Steve stares at the bottle in his hand, and then threw it against the wall opposite as hard as he could. It shattered, sending glass skittering all over the floor. It was weirdly calming, and so Steve threw every bottle he had against that wall.

When he was finished, the floor of his kitchen was covered in shards of glass. Steve leaned against the counter, pressing his forehead against the granite. He wanted to cry. He wanted to feel something other than anger or apathy, but nothing happened.

After a few minutes, Steve pulled himself away from the counter and walked numbly back to his bedroom. He kicked his shoes off, but didn’t bother to change his clothes. He rolled himself up in the blankets, staring at the wall. He’d have nightmares tonight. He always did whenever he had to think about the water, and the ice. It got worse whenever he talked about it.

Despite the anger still simmering in his thoughts, Steve fell asleep surprisingly quickly. He felt drained from his small burst of anger earlier.

He was back at Stark Tower early the next morning. He greeted everyone numbly, and they all said hello back to him. Nothing was said about his outburst yesterday. Tony tried to pull Steve aside to talk to him, but Steve made some excuse about needing to talk to Natasha and walked away.

The trip to Florida was uneventful. They flew on one of Tony’s private jets. Clint and Natasha taught Thor a few card games, and Bruce and Tony discussed some kind of project that they were working on. Steve pretended to be watching the others play cards, but he mostly just looked out the window and grabbed at the armrests every time the plane shook. He wasn’t sure if anyone noticed, but if they did they had the decency not to say anything.

Steve hated flying.

By the time they got to the suspected Hydra base, Steve was already tired. He walked down to his position on the road, shifting his shield on his arm. He had a gun in his other hand, but he doubted it would be much use if he was actually attacked.

The others were chatting to each other over their intercoms as they all started to move into position, but Steve didn’t pay much attention. He was standing on an old road in what appeared to be the middle of a swamp. The air was hot and sticky, and Steve could feel bugs biting all of his exposed skin. He ignored it. It didn’t matter.

He could see the building that Natasha and Clint were entering from his position on the road. It looked abandoned, just a small box of concrete in the middle of the swamp.

The mission appeared to be going fine. They’d confirmed that it was a Hydra base, or at least had previously been one. Tony was somewhere above them, keeping an eye on the ground below. Bruce and Thor were with the cars a few miles away.

Steve’s road was quiet. He stared at the swamp around them, trying to remember how old they’d been when he and Bucky had accidentally knocked his mother’s favourite painting off the wall. Steve couldn’t have been older than 8. It bothered him that he wasn’t sure, though. He could draw it when he got back to his apartment, just to make sure he didn’t forget anything. He’d have to make sure to include the dent in the picture frame in his drawing -

Steve’s daydreaming was interrupted by the sound of Clint suddenly swearing.

“Fucking shit,” Clint said angrily. “There are people in here.”

“People?” Bruce said. “What do you mean?”

“There are people locked up in here,” Natasha replied. “Kids, too. I think they’re civilians.”

“What the hell are they doing in there?” Tony asked.

“It looks like Hydra ditched and left them all here,” Clint replied. “They seem all right, though. Still alive. We’ll get them out. Steve, can you give us a hand?”

“On my way,” Steve said. He started to run towards the building.

People were already hurrying out of the building by the time he got there. They cast worried glances at him and flinched away as he ran past.

“Clint? Natasha?” Steve called as he stepped into the building’s dark hallway.

“Third door,” Clint said over the intercom. Steve started to walk towards that door, but the ground suddenly buckled beneath him. Steve stumbled forward, catching himself on the wall.

“Oh, shit,” Tony’s voice said. “Guys, get out of there. Right now.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asked as he tried to make it down the hallway. The ground was still shaking under his feet.

“I don’t know,” Tony said frantically. “But that building is fucking collapsing in on itself.”

“There’s only a few more people,” Natasha said. “We can do it.”

“Get out of there! Now!” Tony ordered. Steve ran through the third door.

Clint and Natasha were kneeling in front of a cage in the room. Natasha looked like she was trying to pick the lock, and Clint was pulling at her arm. “Nat, we have to go,” Clint said desperately.

“I can do it, Clint.”

Steve didn’t bother announcing his presence. He ran up behind Natasha and grabbed the cage door. With a grunt, he pulled the entire thing completely off.

There were three teenagers inside the cage. They all scrambled out, pushing past Steve and running for the door.

“Come on,” Steve ordered, pulling Natasha to her feet and starting for the door.

“Right behind you,” Clint muttered.

“Is that everyone?” Natasha asked, running next to Steve.

“Yes,” Clint said, just as the roof collapsed on top of them.

 

Steve didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Clint’s shoulder and threw him against the wall. He pushed Natasha in front of him, so that she fell next to Clint. Steve knelt in front of her, covering as much of her body with his as he could. He pressed his shield between him and the wall, covering Clint.

Just as he did so, the collapsing roof slammed into Steve. He stayed conscious enough to feel several of his ribs break, and some of the bones in his legs as well. Pain ripped through the entirety of his body, until another piece of the concrete ceiling hit his head and everything stopped.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, I would love to hear from you! Let me know what you think/thought, either here or at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com! Or if you just want to talk or say hello or complain or ANYTHING


	5. Tell me not of heartbreak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Enemy" by Mumford and Sons.
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS, I LOVE YOU GUYS

Steve woke up gradually. It was more difficult than usual, and it felt like he was swimming upwards through murky water. He forced his eyes open, but it took effort and his vision still blurred. The familiar sound of a heartrate monitor reached his ears, and the strong antiseptic smell told him that he was in a hospital.

Steve hated hospitals.

His heart started to pound more quickly, which helped the haze start to clear from his vision. He felt a hand press against his shoulder.

“Steve, it’s me,” Natasha said. “You’re okay. You’re safe.”

“Natasha?” Steve said groggily. “Are you okay? Is Clint okay?”

“Yes,” she said. “We’re both fine. Everyone’s okay. Steve, you need to try and calm down, all right?”

“Don’t like hospitals,” Steve mumbled.

“I know. But you need to calm down, Steve, you’re breathing too quickly.”

She had a point. He hadn’t noticed, but pain was shooting through his body with every breath. He forced himself to take a slower breath, wincing as the pain began to grow stronger.

“He’s waking up too quickly,” Clint said from somewhere. “Bruce, just try it.”

“We don’t know if it’ll actually work-“

Whatever Bruce had been about to say was interrupted by Steve trying to sit up. Moving like that caused pain to flare from his legs and his back, not to mention the pain already radiating from his chest. Steve wasn’t sure if he screamed or not, but suddenly there were more hands pressing him down against the bed.

There was a tugging on his arm, and Steve looked down to see someone pressing a needle into his skin.

“Don’t,” Steve begged, trying to pull his arm away.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” Bruce’s voice said. “We tried to make a painkiller strong enough for you. You need to rest- ”

Apparently Bruce’s painkiller worked, because the pain started to fade immediately. With its absence, Steve slipped back into unconsciousness.

 

When Steve woke up the next time, his head was clearer. His opened his eyes, blinking in the light. Soft afternoon sun was streaming through the windows of the room. Clint sat in a chair next to the window, his legs thrown over the arms of the chair. He was looking at something on his phone.

Steve shifted experimentally. He winced as pain flashed up his spine, but it wasn’t as bad as it had been before. His leg ached, and the skin on his shoulders felt raw.

“Oh, hey!” Clint said, sitting up. “You’re back.”

“Apparently,” Steve mumbled. He tried to sit up.

Clint slid his chair closer, looking exasperated. “Stop trying to do that. Seriously, do you know many times we’ve had to stop you from trying to walk out of here?”

“No,” Steve said honestly.

“Well, it’s been a lot. Jeez, just lie still for a while.”

“I don’t like hospitals,” Steve said stubbornly.

“We noticed,” Clint muttered. He didn’t look angry, though.

“How long have I been out?” Steve asked.

Clint shrugged. “Three days, give or take.”

Steve frowned at him. “Wait, how are you?”

Clint looked at him, confused. “Me? I’m fine. Bruised my shoulder, and that’s pretty much it. We’re all fine.”

“Oh, good,” Steve said. He was relieved.

“No, not good!” Clint said indignantly. “We thought you were dead. You had a fucking piece of concrete sticking out of your back.”

“So that’s why my shoulders hurt,” Steve said. Clint rolled his eyes.

“This isn’t funny, Steve. Natasha went to the cafeteria to grab some food, but if you’re still awake when she gets back, you’re going to get one hell of a lecture.”

Steve stared blearily at him. He was tired again. “Why?”

“Why? Because she’s pissed at you, that’s why.”

Steve let his eyes slide closed. “Is she still angry because I was rude to her the other night?”

“What the hell?” Clint said. “No, of course not. She’s pissed because you almost died. Again.”

“That’s okay, though,” Steve said sleepily. “I had to make sure you guys would be safe.”

“That’s not fucking okay, Steve!” Clint said. He sounded upset. “Look I… I don’t want you to think that I’m not grateful for what you did. I am. Me and Natasha would be dead right now if it wasn’t for you. But you getting hurt like this again is just…”

“It’s fine,” Steve said again. He was falling asleep again. “Who dug us out?”

“Thor and Tony did, but… hey, don’t distract me. We’re not done with this conversation.”

Steve sighed. “You don’t need to be here, Clint. I’m fine. You can go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve! Natasha will be right back, because she refuses to leave the hospital until you do. Thor was here earlier, but we sent him for coffee and he probably got distracted by the frappachinos. Tony and Bruce were here all last night, but they went back to the tower this morning to try and work on another painkiller for you. You’re apparently becoming resistant to the other one they developed. Look, Steve, no one is going anywhere.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” Steve mumbled. His mind was starting to drift.

“You’re not a burden,” Clint said.

“Did all those people get out?” Steve asked, suddenly remembering. His thoughts felt slow and groggy.

“Yeah. Everybody’s okay, Steve. You were the only one who got badly hurt.”

“I’ll heal,” Steve said sleepily. He wasn’t sure if Clint even heard him. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve heard the door opening. Clint was saying something to whoever had just walked in. He sounded upset, but Steve wasn’t listening anymore. He was drifting back down into sleep, while his body worked frantically to heal his injuries.

One of the only good things about being in the hospital is that Steve usually dreamt about his past hospital visits.


	6. Where the New York City winters aren't bleeding me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Boxer", by Paul Simon (the cover I listen to it by Jerry Douglas and Mumford and Sons)
> 
> ~ cue the dream sequence ~

_The hospital was nothing like modern hospitals. This one was as clean as the staff could make it, but none of them had the time or the energy to really scrub it. Besides, it didn’t matter. This hospital was simply a place where people went to die, so that their family or landlords wouldn’t have to deal with their last breaths and their bodies. It was a rare occasion when someone got better, and that usually had less to do with medicine and more to do with luck._

_Steve had been in this hospital for three days. His mother had carried him all the way here in the middle of the night. They’d taken him away from her immediately, and he hadn’t seen her since. Her work in the TB ward made her a danger to the patients on this floor, although it wasn’t like contracting TB would really make a difference to most of them._

_Steve didn’t have enough blankets, and he shook with cold constantly. He’d managed to grab one of the blankets off the bed of the man beside him, who’d died in the middle of the night. Steve had gotten the blanket before the nurse had noticed that the man was dead. Steve felt horrible about taking the blanket, but it wasn’t like the man needed it anymore. Steve had only had it for a few hours before a girl across the room started to cry because she was so cold, and Steve had sighed and given it to her._

_He had nothing to do, either. He spent most of his time thinking about his own misery, or watching the suffering of others. There had been a young girl about his age in the bed across from him, at one point. She couldn’t have been older than 11. They’d smiled at each other occasionally. The girl had made a face at one of the nurses behind her back, and Steve had laughed out loud. The girl had smiled back. It was the best interaction that Steve had had in days, but that all ended when the girl didn’t wake up the next morning. Steve didn’t even know what had been wrong with her in the first place, but whatever it was had killed her in her sleep. Not the worst way to go._

_Steve stared up at the filthy ceiling again. At this point, he had every crack and smudge on that ceiling memorized. He could draw it from memory alone, by now. Maybe he would do that, if he got out._

_No. When he got out._

_Hours passed in the same manner. Steve listened to the sound of people slowly dying around him. He watched the ceiling and ran his hands over his coarse blankets._

_There was a window over his bed, but Steve rarely paid any attention to it. He’d tried to pass a few hours by looking out of it, but had stopped when a nurse had yelled at him. And so Steve had ignored it ever since._

_But for several minutes now, something had been tapping against it. Steve was getting annoyed._

_With a quick glance around to make sure there were no nurses watching him, Steve quietly got out of bed and went to the window. It was dirty and old, as well as nearly impossible to see through. Steve struggled to open it, but eventually he managed to slide the window up._

_The cold night air rushed past him, and Steve shivered as he leaned out the window. He was on the second floor of the hospital, and he glanced down to the street below._

_Bucky was standing on the sidewalk. His face lit up when Steve leaned out the window._

_“Steve!” Bucky said happily. Steve stared at him._

_“What are you doing?” Steve hissed._

_Bucky grinned up at him. “Looking for you!”_

_“How did you find my window?”_

_Bucky winced slightly. “I, uh, threw rocks at all of them?”_

_Steve stared at him, but he was smiling too. “You threw rocks at every window in the hospital?”_

_“Yep.”_

_“Why?”_

_Bucky’s smile slipped slightly. “They wouldn’t tell us anything. About you. We didn’t know if… if you were even still alive or not.”_

_Steve forced a smile back onto his face. “Nah, I’m fine! Gonna be out of here soon.”_

_Bucky wasn’t smiling anymore. “You promise?”_

_“Yeah,” Steve said, more easily than he felt. His legs were starting to tremble from the short time that he’d been standing, and the cold air was seeping into his already strained lungs._

_“You’d better,” Bucky said firmly._

_Steve didn’t really know if he could promise it again. He didn’t like making promises he couldn’t keep._

_“Aren’t you cold?” Steve asked instead._

_Bucky shrugged. “Nah. It’s not that bad.”_

_He was lying too, Steve knew. It was a cold night, and Bucky’s coat was threadbare._

_“You’re going to get in trouble for being out so late,” Steve said._

_Bucky made a face. “Maybe. I’ll tell your mom I saw you, though. She’s really worried.”_

_“You’ll tell her I’m fine, right?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Thanks, Bucky.”_

_Someone from behind Steve moaned. “Shut that window.”_

_“Fine,” Steve hissed back at him. “Buck, I gotta go.”_

_“All right,” Bucky said. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning, though.”_

_“You promise?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“See you tomorrow, then,” Steve said._

_The man in the bed next to Steve threw his water glass at him, and Steve hurriedly closed the window. He climbed back into bed just as the nurse came into the room._

_Steve was too weak to get out of bed the next day. His skin alternated between burning and freezing, and his lungs felt like they were ripping apart. He drifted in and out of consciousness all day. At one point, he heard two people in the room placing a bet that Steve would be the next to die._

_All throughout the day, he heard the familiar tapping of rocks being thrown against the window. It went on all throughout the day and well into the night. The tapping stopped for a few hours during the evening, but it was back the next morning._

_Steve got to leave the hospital two weeks later. True to his word, Bucky had been there every day that Steve had been in the hospital._


	7. I'll never tell how close I came

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Home" by Mumford and Sons.

The next time that Steve woke up, his hospital room was empty. There were food cartons scattered around and jackets thrown over chairs. It looked like people had been here, but they weren’t here now. Steve took advantage of that fact.

Someone had left a stack of clothes on the table near his bed, all folded neatly. They all fit him perfectly, and Steve changed into them as quickly as he could. He stood gingerly on his right leg, which had clearly been broken. It ached a little, but it held his weight.

A nurse came in just as Steve was trying to take out his own IVs. Despite her attempts to convince him to stay longer, she reluctantly took out the needles for him.

Bruce walked into the room just as Steve was gingerly sliding a jacket on. His back still hurt, and the skin along his spine was still ripped and torn.

“Steve,” Bruce said disapprovingly. “I would really encourage you to stay for even a little longer. Your injuries were really severe, even for you.”

Steve shrugged, and then immediately regretted it as pain shot across his back. “I’ve had worse, Bruce. I’ll be fine.”

“Come back to the tower with us, at least,” Bruce tried. “It’s not a hospital, but we can keep an eye on you.”

Steve started pulling his shoes on. “I appreciate it, Bruce, but I think I’m just going to go home. I know you want to try more of those painkillers on me, to see what the serum can handle, but I’m sure you’ll get another chance to try that.”

“What?” Bruce asked. He looked confused. “Steve, no. That’s not why… that’s not what we’re trying to do. We just wanted to help you.”

Steve finished tying up his shoes and looked up at him. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you want to help me?”

Bruce was frowning now. “We’re your friends, Steve. We don’t want to see you in pain.”

Steve rubbed his face with his hands. “Bruce, look, you don’t have to do this. You don’t know me, at all. And that’s okay. I like working with you. With all of you. But you don’t have to try and do this. I don’t know if it’s pity, or something, but you aren’t obligated to help me.”

“It’s not… it’s not pity,” Bruce said desperately.

Steve raised his eyebrows at him. “Really?”

Bruce was going to say something else, but Steve was already on his feet. “Bruce, look. I really am grateful for your help, I’m not… I’m not trying to be rude. But just… just give me a call when something else comes up, okay?”

Bruce didn’t say anything else as Steve walked out of the room. He made it all the way out of the hospital and into a taxi, but his legs almost buckled as he tried to get out of the taxi. The stairs up to his apartment were steep, and by the time Steve got to his floor, his right leg was aching sharply. His back had turned into a white-hot burning pain, and his shoulders ached every time he moved.

Steve let himself into the apartment, and managed to lock the door behind him. He stumbled into his bedroom and collapsed face down on the bed. He was exhausted, but the pain was too strong for him to sleep. It was still preferable to the hospital, though.

He drifted in and out of consciousness for the next day. His phone rang in his pocket a few times, but he didn’t bother to answer it. Any kind of movement hurt, and so Steve lay still and willed his body to heal more quickly.

This wish backfired on him by the next day. The skin on his back felt warm to the touch and swollen, and knew that the gash over his spine had become infected. His body immediately flared into a fever, in an attempt to fight off the infection.

Steve had had a lot of fevers in his life, and he knew that this one was too high. Despite his best efforts to keep still, his body was shaking hard enough that he was worried that he would rebreak his leg. He alternated between wrapping himself in blankets and turning his air conditioning up as high as it would go.

Steve lost track of time. His mind grew fuzzy and confused, and the disorientation grew worse. At one point, Steve found himself standing in his kitchen. He’d opened all the cupboards and left them like that, but had no idea what he was looking for. Some time later, he woke up on the bathroom floor. The tile was cool against his skin, and Steve stayed there until he got too cold.

At some point, someone was holding a glass of water for him drink. Steve took it and drank obediently, but stubbornly refused another. His vision was blurry, but he could tell that the person was annoyed. They were trying to say something to him, but Steve ignored them. He was drifting again, his thoughts buzzing.

Without warning (or maybe there had been warning. Steve wasn’t sure), Steve was being dragged along the floor. He tried to protest, but he couldn’t make his arms and legs cooperate. He was dropped unceremoniously in the shower, and freezing water suddenly hit Steve’s face. He tried to crawl away from it, but someone pushed him back in every time.

Steve didn’t know how long it lasted for. He actually felt a little better by the time the water turned off, and he fell asleep again.

He woke up on his bed, still in his damp clothes. Someone was pacing around the room. Steve’s vision was grainy and blurred, but he still watched them for a while. The repetitiveness was soothing, and Steve fell asleep again.

A knock on the door woke Steve up again. Someone moved past him quickly, and he heard the sound of the window opening and then shutting quietly. Steve tried to lift his head, but it was too much effort.

The knock came on the door again, this time more insistent. Steve closed his eyes.

The distinct sound of a key turning in the lock reached Steve’s ears, and he heard his apartment door open.

“This place is a fucking mess,” Clint’s voice said. “It’s even worse than my apartment. And that’s saying something.”

“Steve?” Natasha called. Steve’s bedroom door creaked open.

“Fuck,” Natasha said. “Clint?”

“Yeah?”

“In here.”

Natasha knelt down on the bed next to Steve. She placed her hand on his forehead.

“Hey,” Steve mumbled.

“Steve, I need you to open your eyes,” Natasha said. She sounded worried.

Steve tried, he really did. But he was very tired and his eyes felt gritty and painful.

“I didn’t give you a key,” Steve mumbled into his blankets.

“What?”

“To my apartment. Didn’t give you a key.”

Natasha ignored that. “Steve, please try and look at me.”

Steve sighed and groggily opened his eyes. He blinked at her slowly, his vision fading in and out.

Clint walked into the door, and his eyes widened. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Natasha said. She had one hand on Steve’s head and was typing something on her phone with the other. Clint disappeared back through the door.

“How long have you been feeling like this?” Natasha asked him, glancing away from her phone. Steve watched her tiredly.

“I dunno,” he muttered. “What day is it?”

“Tuesday.”

Steve’s gaze drifted to the ceiling as he thought about it. Sorting through his thoughts was difficult. “Which Tuesday?”

Natasha sighed and typed something else into her phone. Clint came back in, holding some towels.

Natasha grabbed them from him and gently draped one over Steve’s forehead and one over his neck. They were cold and damp, and Steve closed his eyes again.

“Hey, no,” Natasha said. “Steve, you have to stay awake for me.”

Steve forced his eyes open again.

“Steve, do you know who I am?”

“You’re Natasha,” he mumbled.

“Good. Do you know where you are?”

Steve had to think about this one a little harder. “My apartment?”

“Yes. Where’s your apartment?”

Steve thought about it, frowning slightly. “I don’t know.”

“What year is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you know who this is?”

“Stop,” Steve said, closing his eyes again. “I don’t like this.”

“Okay,” Natasha said. “I’m sorry.”

She and Clint talked to each other in low voices for a minute. There was no point in trying to hide what they were saying. Steve wasn’t paying attention anyway.

“Steve?” Clint said a moment later. “Can you sit up?”

“Yes,” Steve said grumpily. Of course he could.

He pushed himself upward, his arms trembling with the effort. He winced as pain from his back laced upward into his brain.

“Can you stand up?”

Steve didn’t bother to reply, concentrating all his effort on standing. He slid his feet onto the floor and then pushed himself upright. His legs buckled immediately, and Clint and Natasha each grabbed one of his arms.

“Don’t,” Steve said, shaking them off impatiently. “I’m fine.”

He was determined to prove this, and so he walked all the way out of his bedroom and into the living room. He knew Clint and Natasha were hovering directly behind him, but he ignored them.

He was nearly to the front door when his vision blacked out completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments and kudos! I love them so much, I appreciate each and every one of them. If you ever want to talk, you can find me at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com!


	8. And all that you can fake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "In My Veins" by Andrew Belle.

_He and Bucky were older now. They had to be somewhere around fifteen, at this point. They were supposed to have been back at Bucky’s apartment much earlier, but they’d gotten distracted by a baseball that Bucky had found in the street. The walk home had turned into a competition to see who could throw it more accurately, and the walk had therefore taken three times as long as it usually did. Bucky had won, of course, and he was laughing as they walked into Bucky’s apartment._

_Bucky’s mother was in a chair near the door. Both of them tensed, expecting the lecture to start, but she just looked at them. She pointed frantically at the door to Bucky’s room down the hall, and gestured for them to run. Both Bucky and Steve immediately scrambled to get down the hallway as quickly as possible, but they weren’t fast enough._

_“Where the hell have you been?” a voice said from the kitchen. Bucky and Steve froze, exchanging a glance. Bucky’s father had left the apartment weeks ago, and there’d been no sign of him since then. Apparently he was back._

_“Around,” Bucky said evasively. He stood up as straight as he could, straightening his clothes. “Where have you been?”_

_Bucky’s father walked slowly out of the kitchen. Bucky was already nearly as tall as him, but he wasn’t nearly as big. Bucky’s father was a handsome man, but he had none of the friendliness and warmth that Bucky had. His face was cold and angry, just like it always was._

_“Your mother wanted you back hours ago,” he said slowly. “You missed dinner.”_

_Bucky shrugged defiantly. “I’ll eat it now.”_

_“You’ll do nothing of the fucking sort,” his father snarled. “I already threw your portion out. You don’t fucking deserve it.”_

_Steve gritted his teeth._

_Bucky glared at his father. “I don’t really see why you get to make that decision. It’s not like you paid for it. Or cooked it. You already spent all our money at that fucking bar – “_

_Bucky didn’t get to finish his sentence. His father punched him the face hard enough that Bucky was knocked backward into the wall. He dropped straight to the floor, crumpled in on himself. He didn’t move._

_Bucky’s mother screamed and scrambled across the room. She knelt over Bucky, cradling his face in her hands._

_Bucky’s father lurched toward her, raising his hand again. He rocked backward, though, when Steve stepped in front of her. He met him glare for glare._

_“Get the fuck out of here,” Bucky’s father snarled._

_Steve stared at him evenly. “No.”_

_Steve tried to dodge the punch to the face, but it still clipped the side of his head. It knocked him to the ground next to Bucky, who was still out cold._

_Steve jumped to his feet. This time, the punch hit his stomach. It knocked the wind out of him, and he struggled for breath. He pushed himself to his feet again._

_“Last warning,” Bucky’s father said. “Get the fuck out of here.”_

_“Steve, please,” Bucky’s mother whispered. Steve looked down at her. She was still curled over Bucky, and was looking up at him desperately. “Please, go. You’re making it worse.”_

_Steve didn’t think that was particularly true, but he wasn’t doing much good, either. He cast a last glance at Bucky, who was still unconscious._

_Steve stepped around Bucky’s father, glaring at him as he went. He was struggling for breath as he stepped out of the building, and he was wheezing by the time he got home._

_His mother waited to ask questions until she’d cleaned the wounds on his head and Steve could breathe again. She then sat and listened to Steve rant._

_Steve didn’t see Bucky again for three days. He tried going by the apartment every day, but no one came to the door and there was no sound from inside. Bucky didn’t show up to school, and no one had seen him or his family either._

_On the fourth day, Steve and his mother were eating dinner when a knock sounded on their door. Sarah opened it, with Steve watching from behind her._

_Bucky and his mother stood on the other side. His mother held the hands of two of Bucky’s younger siblings, and Bucky held the smallest girl in his arms. He stood behind his mother, staring resolutely at the floor. His face was covered by purple bruises, and one of his eyes were so black and swollen that he could barely open it._

_Bucky’s mother met Sarah’s eyes, but her jaw was clenched and her eyes were bright._

_They all stood in silence for a moment, before Sarah pushed the door open wider._

_“There’s soup on the stove,” she said._

_“Thank you,” Bucky’s mother said. She stepped inside, pulling the two children with her. Bucky followed her, still not looking up._

_Steve helped his mother throw together enough food for all of them. It was all the food that the two of them had for the week, but neither Steve nor Sarah cared._

_Bucky didn’t say a word throughout the entire meal. The women discussed light topics like the weather and prices at the store, while the children babbled to Steve about anything and everything. Steve feigned interest in hearing about their day, but Bucky stared blankly into his food._

_That silence lasted until after dinner. The two women were setting up makeshift beds for the children. Steve had pulled out whatever old toys he could find, and was sitting on the floor with the children. They were fascinated with having new toys to play with, and were chattering happily to each other._

_Bucky was sitting next to Steve, staring at the floor again._

_“Thanks,” he muttered finally. “For this.”_

_“Don’t worry about it,” Steve said dismissively. He gently threw one of the small wooden toys at Bucky, making sure that it would miss his bruised face. Bucky smiled slightly and threw it back at him. The children shrieked with laughter and tried to join in._

_They –_

“But isn’t it the fever that’s the problem? That should be the first thing, right?”

“Well, yes, the fever is the problem, but you can’t just make his body lower a fever. It’s trying to burn out that infection, which is what his immune system is supposed to do. The issue is that his immune system is a lot more efficient than a normal human’s, and it’s going into overdrive. It probably would have been fine if we’d been able to keep him unconscious for longer, but because he was up and moving around, he kept damaging all those muscles and skin again.”

“There’s no way we can possibly make a stronger painkiller. Anything stronger would kill him.”

“What about those other ones he was on?”

“His body got used to them and is metabolizing them too quickly. They’re useless now.”

“If the three of you had just kept him in the hospital then –“

“Okay, you try to get Steve to do something he doesn’t want to. He’s stubborn as hell, I’d like to see you try –“

“Arguing isn’t going to solve anything, guys.”

“Well, neither is standing around waiting!”

“Oh fuck, he’s pulling out his IV again. Steve, just lay still, okay?”

“We’re trying to help, Steve. Don’t try and get up –“

“Wasn’t he a soldier? Doesn’t he ever follow directions?”

“Shut up, Tony. He’s sick, cut him some slack.”

“I’m not-“

Steve fell asleep again.


	9. Have you given up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Exile Vilify" by The National. 
> 
> Hey everybody! Sorry there was no chapter yesterday!

When Steve woke up the next time, he didn’t bother trying to get up. He lay there for a moment, listening to the sound of the hospital buzzing around him.

When he finally opened his eyes, Clint was standing at the end of the bed with his arms crossed.

“Don’t even try it,” Clint said. Steve blinked blearily at him.

Clint pointed at Steve. “Don’t you fucking dare. You’re staying in that bed whether you like it or not.”

“Okay,” Steve said groggily. He didn’t really care, at this point. He’d be in pain whether he was here or in the hospital, and he’d feel that constant dull misery in either place. At least there were people here, and noise. He fucking hated the silence of his apartment.

Clint narrowed his eyes. “I don’t believe you.”

Steve watched him sleepily. “Okay.”

Clint frowned. “Stop saying that.”

“Okay.”

Clint angrily dropped into the chair beside Steve’s bed. “All those history books never mentioned how annoying you can be, you know that?”

Steve smiled slightly. “Yeah.”

Silence fell for a few minutes, while Clint pulled out his phone and started texting someone.

“I’m supposed to tell you that if you try and get up again, Natasha will kill you,” Clint said finally.

“Where is she?”

Clint shifted uncomfortably. “Well…”

“Clint.”

“Um, well, they found where those Hydra agents had been hiding. Everyone went to go take them out.”

“What?” Steve said indignantly, moving to sit up.

Clint glared at him. “Don’t even think about it.”

Steve slowly sank back down onto his pillows.

When Clint was satisfied that Steve wasn’t going to try and get up again, he continued talking. “Look, we had to go as soon as possible. Those fuckers are fast as hell. The others wanted to stay, they really did. Natasha was pissed.”

“I should be there.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s a great idea. You’d be really useful, what with you passing out every time you have to walk more than three feet.”

Steve scowled at him.

Clint sighed. “Okay, I’m sorry. But the other thing is…”

Steve waited.

“We just… we’re worried about having you out in the field with us.”

Steve’s body went cold.

“What do you mean?” he asked, as calmly as he could.

Clint seemed to be struggling for words. “It’s not… okay, it’s not that we think you’re a liability or something. It’s the opposite, actually. You’re great to have along.”

Steve waited for the rest. His chest felt like it was constricting.

“But we’ve talked about it, and we’re worried about you. About having you fight with us, at least right now. It’s just… it’s like when you saved me and Natasha. Don’t get me wrong, I really appreciate it. A lot. But, Steve, you used your body to protect me. The three of us could have huddled together, or something. Protected each other.”

“Would you rather I had let you die?” Steve said, anger creeping into his voice.

Clint sat up in his chair. “No! That’s not what I’m saying. It’s just that… you keep doing things like this. Putting yourself in danger and getting hurt, and saying it’s because you’re protecting other people.”

“I am, though!” Steve exclaimed. “This isn’t some kind of fucking saviour complex, Clint. I’m stronger than most people, and I heal a hell of a lot faster. If I get hurt protecting someone, who cares? It doesn’t matter. I’ll heal, I’ll keep going.”

“It matters to me, Steve! It matters to all of us! One of these days you’re going to pull this shit again and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed – “

“I don’t care!” Steve shouted. “You don’t seem to get that! They gave me this body so I can help people who need it. So I can protect people. They didn’t give it to me so I could sit back and watch people suffer in front of me. I’m living on borrowed time as it is. I’d have been dead within a year if I hadn’t gotten that serum, and here I am, all this time later. Still here. Are you really going to try and tell me that that’s fair? That all those people who were braver than I am, more capable than I am, should die so I can live?”

“Steve – “

“Do you know how many people died in that war, Clint?”

“Well, yeah, but – “

“Do you want to know how many of my friends I watched die in front of me? How many times I sent a group of men into a battle and then watched them die, one by one, while I survived?”

Clint was just staring at Steve now.

“For fuck’s sake, Clint, I made my best friend come with me on dangerous mission after dangerous mission, because I was selfish.”

“Steve, you’re the least selfish person I’ve ever met.”

Steve laughed shortly. “Yeah, okay. Bucky had spent weeks being tortured by Hydra, right? And I get him out of there, and I should have sent him home. Everyone knew that I should have sent him home. He wasn’t okay, and he shouldn’t have been fighting with us. But he said he was fine, and I pretended that he wasn’t lying, and so we went into fucking battle after fucking battle. And then I planned out that mission on that train, and it was dangerous and reckless and impulsive but I thought that it would be fine, it always was. I was strong enough to protect everyone, I could keep them all safe. And then Bucky got hit and went over the side of that cliff and that was pretty awful, right? I thought that was the worst of it, at that point. I thought that nothing could be worse than that.”

Clint didn’t say anything.

“And then I put that goddamn plane in the ocean and I thought that it was done, that it was finally over. But then someone wakes me up and tells me that they need me to come back and keep fighting. Oh, and also, everyone I ever knew and loved was dead. So I said to myself then, that this was the lowest point. There couldn’t be anything worse than losing everything and everyone all at once.”

“Steve…”

“Well, I was wrong. Again. How many fucking times can I be wrong? Because just when I start getting used to it here, just when I start to think that maybe it’ll be okay here, with these people, I find out that Bucky didn’t fucking die when he fell off that train. He fell, but it didn’t kill him and who even knows how long he was in that snow for? In pain, and cold, and alone? You know what, he probably that that was the worst, too. That dying alone in those mountains was the worst that could happen to him. And then fucking Hydra comes back again and they destroyed him, Clint. I don’t even know what he went through, and I don’t know what he’s going through now. He’s out there somewhere, Clint, and I can’t help him. I can’t find him, and I don’t know how to go about finding him. And even if I did, I have no idea what to say to him. Sorry, probably. Sorry that I failed him. Sorry that I didn’t come back for him, sorry that I took him there in the first place. Sorry that I let this happen to him.”

Clint was leaning forward in his chair, his face anxious. “Steve, that wasn’t your fault –“

“Bullshit,” Steve said dismissively. He was staring at the ceiling. “You didn’t see him, Clint. And even if you did, you didn’t know him before. Actually, you know what? You’re right. You’re right, Clint.”

“About what?” Clint asked warily.

“About me. Not being on the team anymore. It’s what’s best for everyone. Here I am being selfish again, because I’m fucking terrified of being alone. But you’re right, it’s better if I don’t fight with you. I _am_ a liability, and people get hurt around me. You’ll all be better off without me.”

Clint looked alarmed. “No, Steve, that’s not what I was saying –“

Steve was starting to feel very tired. “I’ll find something else to do, I guess, because apparently I can’t just fucking die. You can go, Clint. I’m sorry that I yelled all of this at you, and now you don’t have to worry about this anymore. Go join the others. They need you.”

Clint rubbed his hands over his face. “Steve, stop. I-“

“Can you go? Please?” Steve asked, his voice desperate.

Clint stared at him, his face tense. “Okay. I’ll be right outside, though. I’ll be right outside that door.”

“Fine,” Steve said tightly.

Clint got up and left the room, frantically typing something into his phone. Steve stared at the ceiling until he heard the door click shut. Then, he finally let the tears that were prickling at his eyes start to fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all of your kind comments and kudos and messages. Each one makes my day, and I appreciate them all so much. All of you have been so kind to me, thank you! As always, feel free to come and talk to me at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com.


	10. It's easier, it's kinder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "The Enemy" by Mumford & Sons.

Steve stayed in the hospital for the next five days. He felt fine after three, but Bruce insisted he stay until the doctors were convinced he was completely healthy. Steve remained in his room the entire time, barely getting out of bed. His back and shoulders healed quickly with the rest that he was getting, but he was becoming restless and impatient. He wasn’t used to having so much time to just relax, and it made him a little uncomfortable.

Clint stayed with him in the hospital until the others got back, and then they all took turns staying in Steve’s room. Steve wasn’t sure what Clint had said to them, but they all went out of their way to make sure that Steve was never alone in the hospital once.

He went back to DC the day following his release from the hospital. The rest of the Avengers had all had to leave again on another mission, and apparently they were standing by their decision to kick Steve out for the time being. There was nothing else for him to do in New York, and so he packed up his few belongings and went back to DC.

Steve sat around his apartment for a few days before Sam called. Steve had a feeling that Natasha had talked to him, because Sam insisted that Steve needed to get out of the house more. That was how Steve found himself spending four afternoons a week with Sam’s therapy groups.

Sam had initially asked him to come to a few of the sessions as a personal favour. He said that Steve’s presence might help a lot of the veterans feel more comfortable with being there. Sam claimed that if they saw Steve at the meetings, it might help reduce some of the stigma around attending therapy groups. Something about Steve being seen as the epitome of strength or some shit.

Sam also insisted that Steve didn’t actually have to do anything. All he had to do was show up and sit. He didn’t have to talk about anything if he didn’t want to, and he could even sit in the back and not say a single word.

Steve didn’t think twice about saying yes. He already owed Sam more favours than he could possibly ever repay, and he would have done it even if that weren’t the case. Steve liked helping his friends.

After the first few afternoons, Steve began to suspect that Sam had an ulterior motive by inviting him to these things. True to his word, Sam never asked Steve to do anything other than show up. Steve would go to the meeting and sit in the back row. He would listen to the veterans talk and share their stories. Sam sometimes had guest speakers come to the meetings, usually therapists or PTSD specialists. They would share information and strategies to deal with many of the symptoms of the disorder, which Steve actually found to be kind of useful.

He learned a lot from going to the sessions, even if he didn’t really like admitting it to Sam. He found them helpful, and it was nice to hear other people talk about some of the same things that he was experiencing. It was also nice to have something to do that didn’t involve fighting and killing.

That didn’t mean that Steve stopped doing everything, of course. A building down the street from him caught fire one morning, and Steve burned his arm while he was pulling kids out the flames. It was bad enough that he had to call Tony and ask if he could send some of those painkillers that he and Bruce had been working on. He also stopped two robberies, and pulled people out of three cars after a massive car crash.

Other than that, Steve was having a very uneventful and monotonous time back in DC.

He liked it.

Steve was actually feeling a little better than he had been while he was in New York, which is why he thought he would get out of his apartment for a little while one evening. He grabbed his sketchpad and pencil and headed up to the roof, planning on sketching the view.

It was a nice night, and Steve took a deep breath of fresh air as he stepped out onto the roof. He walked towards the edge, looking out at the city lights.

He’d only taken a few steps when he heard the distinctive sound of sobbing. He turned around and saw a girl standing on the ledge at the edge of the roof. She must have heard him, because she turned around to look at him, rubbing frantically at her face.

She couldn’t have been older than seventeen. Her eyes were red and swollen, and her makeup was smeared around her eyes.

“Hey,” Steve said calmly. He carefully set his notebook down onto the ground and went to take a step towards her.

“Don’t!” the girl shouted. She held out her hand towards him, but her arm was shaking so badly that it kind of lost the effect. “I’ll do it, I’m not kidding, I’ll do it.”

Steve held up his hands and stayed where he was. “Okay, okay.”

The girl let her arm fall back to her side as she started to cry again. Steve was calculating whether or not he could run at her and grab her before she jumped, but he didn’t think he could make it.

“What’s your name?” he asked after a minute.

The girl didn’t look at him. She was staring determinedly down at the ground, but Steve doubted she could see through her tears.

“Sarah,” she said finally.

Steve’s jaw tightened. “That’s a really nice name, Sarah. That was my mother’s name.”

The girl didn’t say anything.

“I’m Steve,” he said when she didn’t reply.

“Well, Steve,” Sarah said through her tears. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d leave me alone right now.”

She was shaking badly now, and Steve was worried that she would fall off the ledge even accidentally.

“You’re standing on the edge of the roof,” Steve said slowly. “I don’t really feel comfortable leaving you alone right now.”

“Why do you care?” she asked sharply. She looked back at him, her face crumpled.

Steve stared evenly back. “I don’t like seeing people upset,” he said. “You seem pretty upset right now.”

“Yeah, well,” Sarah said with a choked laugh. She turned back to look out over the city again, clenching her fists. She was just wearing a t-shirt, and Steve figured that at least part of her shaking was from the cold.

“Wanna tell me what’s going on?” Steve said after another minute of listening to her cry.

Sarah laughed again. “You don’t care.”

“I do, actually,” Steve said. “I’m not going anywhere, and you’re hopefully not going anywhere. So you might as well tell me.”

She didn’t look at him, but her sobs slowed for a moment. “It’s… it’s dumb. It’s nothing.”

“It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around her thin frame, still shaking. “But it seems so stupid. Like, other people have things so much worse, you know?”

Steve shrugged. “I don’t think it really works like that. Things can still be pretty terrible, even if someone else objectively has it worse.”

She sighed. “Fine. Fine, I’ll tell you, if you’re so desperate to know. Even if it’s stupid.”

Steve waited.

“It’s just…” she started slowly. “I worked really hard in high school, right? And then we all graduated, and I was supposed to be going to this really great college, and my boyfriend was going to go there too, and everything was great. But I’m really bad at English and writing and things like that, and my final exam grades weren’t high enough. But, okay, I tried really hard to study! I worked so hard, and I failed the final, and then I got a letter from the college saying that they’d rescinded my acceptance. And that was the only college I’d gotten into, and so now I’m not going to college next year. And I was really upset about it, obviously, and I couldn’t tell my parents but I told my boyfriend. And then he said that he wasn’t interested in dating someone who wasn’t moving forward with their life, and that was that. He dumped me.”

She started to cry again, and Steve waited patiently.

“He sounds like a jerk,” Steve said after a few moments. Sarah laughed sharply.

“He is, I guess. But I still… I still really liked him, you know? And then I called my best friend to tell her, and she also said that he was a jerk. But then she said that she had to go because she had to go skype with her new college roommate, and that I’d be fine. And then she hung up. Which, I mean, I’m sure she’s just really busy, but she hasn’t had any time for me in the last few months. And I don’t want to be clingy or anything, but she’s moving on and I’m still going to be here, right?”

She was still shaking, but Steve didn’t dare to try to give her his jacket.

“And I know this all probably seems really trivial, but it still… its still hard. All my friends are leaving, it’s just gonna be me here now. And I tore my ACL earlier this year, so I can’t even play basketball anymore, and that was my favourite thing. And my aunt is really sick and I don’t think she’s going to make it through the year, and my cat died last month, and I can’t even get a job anywhere to support myself so I’m still living with my parents. But they don’t have much money, and now both of them are working two jobs because we can’t pay the rent every month, and it would be so much easier for them if I wasn’t here, right?”

“I don’t-“ Steve tried.

“Oh, and I didn’t even mention all the other stuff. I lost my basketball scholarships when I got hurt, and now I won’t even be able to afford another college anyway. So it doesn’t even matter, I guess. But I’ve been feeling so horrible for so long, and I’m so tired. I’m so, so tired, and I just want it to stop, I just want it all to stop.”

She started to cry again, and Steve watched her worryingly. He desperately wanted to call Sam, but he figured that Sarah would get even more upset if he tried to pull out his phone.

“Hey, hey,” Steve said, as calmly as he could. “All of that really sucks. That’s a lot of really awful things to deal with.”

Sarah didn’t say anything, but her sobs quieted for a minute.

“And I know this all seems really dark right now, but just… it’s not always going to be like this, okay?”

She closed her eyes. “It is, though! It’s not…. I don’t remember what it’s like to be happy, and to not worry, and that’s not going to change any time soon. I’m so tired.”

“I know,” Steve said gently. “But… but look. What were you going to study at college?”

Sarah sniffed. “Education. I wanted to be a teacher.”

“And that’s something you’ve always wanted to do?”

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “But it’s not going to happen now, so it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter,” Steve said. “Just because this one college didn’t work out doesn’t mean that you’re never going to get to be a teacher, ever. It might not happen like the way you wanted it to, but it can still happen. And if you step off that ledge right now, you won’t ever get to see that happen.”

She turned to look at him, the tears still running down her face. “But…”

“And that thing with your boyfriend,” Steve continued. “I mean, come on, there’s lots of other guys in the world.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “None like him, though.”

Steve tried not to sigh. “There’s lots better than him. You’ll meet someone else, I promise. And if you die tonight, you won’t ever get the chance. You won’t get to meet that person.”

Sarah rubbed her hands over her face tiredly. “I just…”

When she didn’t say anything else, Steve continued. “Is there anything else you’re looking forward to? Like a movie, or a vacation, or something?”

Sarah thought for a few moments. “Um, well, my cousin’s birthday is in a few weeks, I was looking forward to that. And that new romcom that’s coming out next month, I guess.”

“See?” Steve said. “You step off that ledge, you won’t get to see those.”

She watched him through her strained eyes. “I guess, yeah, but… but my aunt is still dying, and I’m still a burden on my parents, and all that shit. “

Steve nodded. “Yeah, and that’s awful. I’m not saying that everything is magically going to fix itself. It’s not. Things don’t just get easier like that. But it’s... look, what’s something you like to do? Like a hobby, or something?”

Sarah shrugged. “I dunno. I like swimming. Water parks. Oh, and going to Disney World.”

Steve smiled slightly. “See? If you die tonight, you won’t ever get to do those things again. Yeah, your aunt will still be sick, and that’s hard. It’ll continue being hard. But you’ll get to go to Disney World again, at some point. You’ll get to go swimming at a water park. And you’ll be happy, then. And also…”

He hesitated, but Sarah was still watching him expectantly.

“Look, I don’t know all that much about this, but one of my friends is pretty insistent on it. I know there’s medications and things like that now, and if you take those and do these therapy programs, it won’t make it… it doesn’t magically make things easier, but it makes the tough things easier to handle. I think. Does that make sense?”

“I guess,” she said slowly. “I’m… I thought about talking to my doctor about all of this and stuff, but then my aunt got sick and everything was so worried about her. And she’s so sick, right? And I felt so stupid, trying to get meds to make myself less sad when she can barely get out of bed because she’s so weak. It seems so… I dunno. Unimportant.”

“Well…” Steve said slowly. “I mean, her illness is killing her, but yours is kind of killing you, too.”

Sarah’s eyes widened. “What?”

Steve shrugged. “Well, you’re standing on the edge of a roof right now, about to jump off. We’re six floors up, that’ll kill you easily. Seems to me that it’s pretty important. Just as important as any kind of physical illness.”

Steve was kind of startled by this revelation himself, but Sarah seemed even more shocked.

“Oh,” she said finally. “I guess.”

They stood there for a moment, Sarah still shaking. Steve hesitated, and then slowly took off his jacket. He held it out to her.

“If you want to come down from there, we can see about getting you some help,” he said carefully. “If that’s what you want.”

She stared at him with wide eyes, tears started to run down her face again. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Steve said. “It’s hard. I think you can do it, though.”

Sarah glanced back down over the side of the building. She started to cry again, but to Steve’s relief, she carefully stepped back down off the ledge. She walked slowly towards him, and Steve hastily darted forward. He put himself between her and the ledge, and carefully wrapped his jacket around her shoulders. To his surprise, she leaned forward and clung to his shirt. She was still crying, and Steve hesitantly wrapped his arm around her.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket with his other hand and called the ambulance.

Steve walked her back into the building and down to the ground floor. Sarah kept her face pressed into his shirt the entire time, soaking it with tears.

They let Steve get into the ambulance with her, and he stayed with her all the way to the hospital. By the time they got there, Sarah had cried herself out and now was nearly asleep. Steve sat with her for hours in the emergency room while they processed her and wrote down all of her information.

They were still sitting there waiting to see another doctor when the doors flew open. A man and a woman ran in, their faces frantic.

The woman caught sight of Sarah immediately. “Oh my god,” she said breathlessly, her face crumpling. She ran forward, dropping to her knees in front of Sarah’s chair. “Oh my god, oh my god.”

Sarah looked up, her eyes filling up again too. “I’m sorry, Mom,” she said tearfully.

The woman pulled Sarah into her arms, holding her so tightly that Steve doubted Sarah could breathe. “No, Sarah, no, it’s okay, it’s okay, oh my god, Sarah.”

The two of them stayed there, curled in each other’s arms on the floor. The man stood behind them, staring at Sarah with wide eyes. He looked like he was in shock.

Finally, he reached down and placed his hand on Sarah’s shoulder. She reached up and grabbed his hand, clenching it tightly.

The man looked up at Steve. He frowned at Steve for a moment, and then his eyes widened. He’d clearly just recognized him.

Luckily, the doctor came in at that exact moment. Sarah’s father started giving him their insurance information, and Steve slipped out the door without anyone noticing.

He walked all the way home.

 

Steve let himself into his apartment, standing for a moment in the silence. Then he pulled out his phone, opening Sam’s contact page.

 _‘I think I’m a hypocrite’_ , he texted him.

Sam replied immediately, even though it was ridiculously late at night by now. _‘you definitely are. About what though?’_

 _‘tell you tomorrow,’_ Steve replied. He left his phone on the counter and got ready for bed. His mind was strangely peaceful tonight, and he fell asleep much more easily than he normally did.

He called Sam in the morning. He hesitantly asked him if he knew of any good therapists, and Sam immediately sent him a list of some that he thought would be a good fit for Steve.

Sam came over later that afternoon and helped Steve called one of them and set up an appointment. Steve was still uncertain about it, but he figured it couldn’t hurt.

 

Six weeks later, Steve was going to two therapy sessions a week. He spent four afternoons a week at the VA with Sam, and he even went out for drinks once a week with some of Sam’s friends.

One morning, he got an email from an address he didn’t recognize. He opened up the email to find a picture of what was obviously Sarah. She was surrounded by children, and she was smiling at the camera. The message detailed what she’d been doing since she’d been released from the hospital. She’d gotten a job at a preschool nearby, and was working there three days a week. She had therapy twice a week, and the doctors had finally found a medication that worked for her. She didn’t have a new boyfriend yet, but she’d met a boy on her lunch break the other day and she thought there was potential.

The message ended with her thanking Steve for what he did for her. The email also included a short paragraph from Sarah’s father, also thanking Steve. They urged Steve to keep in touch.

Steve smiled as he closed the email. He’d reply later, but he was already running late.

He actually made it to the café a few minutes early, but Natasha was already there. She smiled when she saw him, and stood up so that she could hug him.

“You look good,” she said as they sat back down. He smiled at her.

“Thanks. You do too.”

Steve noticed with amusement that she’d already ordered his meal for him. She’d picked out exactly what he would have chosen for himself, of course.

Natasha rolled her eyes at him. They talked for a few minutes about easy topics, but then Natasha’s face grew serious. She hesitated, and Steve watched her expectantly.

“Steve…” she said slowly. Steve waited.

“We found him,” Natasha said finally. “He’s alive.”

Steve closed his eyes for a moment, relief flooding through him. He was already pulling out his phone to text Sam while Natasha kept talking. He needed to let him know that he wouldn’t be in to the VA tomorrow.

Two hours later, Steve was getting on a plane with Natasha back to New York.

He could do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! This was originally supposed to be two chapters, but I couldn't figure out a good place to split it. That's why it's just one long one, and why I kind of ended this with no warning. I hope you all enjoyed reading this, and if you didn't then I AM SORRY. 
> 
> This fic was originally supposed to be 1000 words and now here we are. As always, thank you guys so much for your comments and messages. It means so much to me. 
> 
> I'm at cameronwolfe.tumblr.com if you ever want to come talk, and I love hearing your feedback!
> 
> EDIT: I'm doing a sequel! because everyone is freaking out! I'm sorry!!! I know I ended this quickly but that's because I have a lot of things to do right now, and I didn't feel like I could keep up with posting chapters! But I will! Because apparently people are upset??? But yeah I guess I'll post the first part of the sequel... tomorrow? probably?


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